


Phone Sex

by LyricaXXX (LyricaB)



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:25:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyricaB/pseuds/LyricaXXX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That must have been what woke him—James’s voice. Though what he could hear now didn’t sound like words exactly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phone Sex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dryad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/gifts).



> This is dedicated to Dryad, the first person who volunteered to beta read for me when I first started writing again after a very long period of not writing (and fearing that I would never write again). To say that I was in a delicate frame of mind over my first completed work in many years and this first foray into Lewis fanfic is an understatement. Dryad was gentle with me and very patiently answered the many questions I had about this piece. 
> 
> Of course, I’ve fiddled with it since, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Dryad, thank you so much! It took me a long time to gather the confidence to post this, but your help gave me the confidence to keep going with other fics.

* * *

  


> I can hear the things that you're dreamin' about  
>  When you open up your heart and the truth comes out.  
>                            ~ _Talking In Your Sleep_ , The Romantics

  


A whisper, in the night, in the darkness of his flat, cut through his sleep. A sound where there should be none chased Robbie out of a dream.

In the way of dreams, the warm, sweetly sensual feel of it lingered, but the substance of it was already slipping away as he blinked himself awake. All he could hold onto was the thinnest memory of words breathed across his skin, someone’s voice stroking him, as he whispered in response— What had he said? Had he been talking in his sleep?

He couldn’t remember, but it had been a sex dream, hadn’t it? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a sex dream. Both the dream and the idea of it left him flustered with surprise and pleasantly flushed from the leftover sensation of breath on his skin. If a burglar was tiptoeing down his hall right now, he was going to put the berk’s head through the wall for waking him before he got to the end of that dream.

He turned his head slowly, trying not to make any noise. Long strips of diffused moonlight seeped through the blinds, creating enough of a glow that he could tell there was no intruder in his bedroom. He looked at the clock. Quarter three. Middle of the night. 

He wanted to stretch to ease the ache left by the dream, but instead he held still and listened carefully. He could hear something down the hall. A low sound that was just enough to tease, but not enough to comprehend. 

Not movement. A voice maybe? Soft. Familiar in a way that made him feel comfortable. 

And he relaxed as he remembered that he’d left James asleep in the living room just a couple of hours ago.

It had been a typical Friday night. Take-out, beer, football on the telly. But the defensive, 0-0 game had bored him, and he’d moved to the table to read. And when the words had started to swim on the page, he’d put his book aside and discovered that James had apparently been bored with the game, too. Because James was sound asleep on his couch. 

His sergeant had looked so comfortable, a feat considering the length of his couch compared to the length of James, that he hadn’t had the heart to wake him and send him on his way. He’d just tossed a blanket over him and left him there. 

Robbie yawned widely and indulged in the bone-popping stretch he’d denied himself a moment earlier. He shifted slightly so that his right ear was out of the pillow and more in line with the door.

That must have been what woke him—James’s voice. Though what he could hear now didn’t sound like words exactly. More like the occasional syllable. Or breaths. More like James was listening rather than talking. James must be on his cell, though it seemed odd that James’s voice would have disturbed his sleep when the ringing of the phone hadn’t. 

Christ, he hoped it wasn’t a call out! They’d only just put a rough case to rest. They needed a little down time to recharge. 

He rubbed his eyes and waited for James to come tell him there was a body somewhere. 

Robbie was drifting near the edge of sleep when the whispering voice woke him again. 

His eyes snapped open. He expected to see James, hovering in the doorway like a pale, rumpled, moonlit ghost, but the room was empty. And there was no movement from the front of the flat. No whispers either. 

Just...a sound. Not a whisper at all. A quiet, quickly stifled sound that teased at his hearing. Something he should recognize. 

James’s voice, but no words. Just...a soft, soft moan. Low and almost anguished. 

He held his breath, straining to hear. Was James having a nightmare? He pushed the sheet down to his waist. 

Another sound. Slithery. Cloth sliding on cloth? And another breathy moan. 

Oh. 

He froze, sheet clutched in his fingers. 

_Oh._

Now he recognized the sound. He made it himself, though not quite as beautifully as James, when he was alone. When he was touching himself. And it wasn’t cloth sliding on cloth that he could hear. It was skin. Silky smooth glide of skin on skin. 

James was masturbating. In his living room. 

His breath caught in his throat as a flush spread across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He twisted his fingers tighter in the sheet. 

That must have been what interrupted his dream—James’s voice. That’s what had wakened him. James speaking in that smooth, low tone that had made him flush all over the day James had talked to a suspect on a phone sex line. 

An image flickered across the backs of his eyelids. _James slouched back in the corner of the couch, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder._ Robbie had seen him do it dozens of times. Only now, instead of balancing a beer on his knee, James was sprawled, long legs spread wide, trousers open, touching himself as he talked to someone on the phone. 

Arousal curled through him. Warmth spread across his chest, slid down his belly, and pooled in his groin. His cock hardened with a smooth rush of blood, curving up against his belly so fast it snagged in the elastic of his pyjama bottoms. 

His nearly instantaneous response was even more of a shock than realizing his sergeant was jerking off a room away. He shouldn’t be aroused—no, that was daft. Only a dead man wouldn’t be aroused by that sensual, midnight-radio voice. By knowing what James was doing. 

But he shouldn’t be listening. He should turn over. Cough. Make some sound so that James would know he was awake. 

He shouldn’t be lying there, silent and sneaky, straining to hear. Eavesdropping while James had phone sex with... Who? A friend? A stranger? 

Would James do that, use one of those sex lines? Robbie had made a joke about it when they were on the case, but he hadn’t really believed it. 

But it didn’t really matter who it was. It wasn’t right, was it? To be wondering. To be listening so avidly. For his own breath to be matching the rhythm of James’s arousal. To be so turned on that just the weight of sheet and pyjamas on his erection was sending shivers up his spine. 

And it was lewd for James to be doing that in his flat. It was worse for him to be so turned on listening to James do it. But telling himself that didn’t slow his breathing. Didn’t stop the heartbeat thrumming in his groin. Didn’t stop him feeding off James’s arousal. 

He shoved his hand under the sheet and into his pyjamas and gripped his cock. It was like a shock of cold water, cool fingers on overheated flesh. He pushed the sheet and the waist of his pyjamas down and stroked himself. A slow up and down, just to see if it really felt as good as his body was promising him it would. 

A shiver of pleasure raced across his skin. His hand moved again like it wasn’t connected to his brain. Arousal winning out over propriety. 

He shouldn’t, but it was too thrilling. Exciting, in a way he hadn’t been excited in the middle of the night in a very long time. Forbidden and exhilarating. And that was part of it, wasn’t it? The thrill of doing this while someone was just down the hall. With _James_ just down the hall. Touching himself, holding back the groans, stifling the soft gasps. 

James must be feeling the same thing. Was he thrilled, harder, knowing that Robbie was just down the hall? Or was he so focused on what he was hearing that he’d forgotten Robbie was there? 

Who was on the phone with James? What was she saying to James to make his breath catch like that? 

Without him even thinking about it until he’d done it, his hand matched the rough rhythm of James’s breathing. The even slighter sound that had to be James stroking himself. 

If James stopped listening to the voice on the phone, could he hear the soft slide of Robbie’s hand, slipping back and forth? Would it make him stop? Or would it make him arch back, thrust up into his fist even harder? 

Robbie shuddered all over and gripped himself tighter, arched up to match the image. 

He wished James would say something in his phone sex voice, that soft, low voice that was even smoother than skin on skin. 

He pressed his fist to his mouth to keep from groaning. Hand moving quicker now. It was going to be fast. Too fast. He was already right on the edge. Hot flush starting to rise from behind his balls. Muscles contracting. Breath ragged but silent. 

And he stopped, squeezed down hard. Trying to back off a bit. Make it last. 

And James whispered into his phone, “Come with me.” Sultry, melted chocolate voice. Tongue rasping on naked skin voice. “Come with me. Now!”

Robbie knew he would follow James off a cliff if he asked in that voice. 

And he followed him now. He stroked himself once, twice, hard. Gasped at the same time James did. Came at the same time he did. 

He could hear it, in the sudden stutter of James’s breath. In the barely restrained gasp that was like a musical note traced across his skin. In the one short, sharp twinge of the springs in the couch. 

James arching back, coming. Coming with him. 

Robbie’s orgasm slammed him back into the mattress. His muscles clamped down as pleasure crashed through him. Flashes of heat. Splashes of semen soaking into his t-shirt, sliding down over his fingers. Salt, musky scent. He turned his face into the pillow and stifled his groan, the ecstasy sharper because he couldn’t make a sound. 

It wound around him, through him, the silence, the need for silence, pressing down on him with the weight of a body. Holding him down. Pressing him into the mattress. 

He shuddered as another wave of sensation washed through him. Bit the pillow cover because his cock was still throbbing and jerking with every slick stroke. He wanted to moan with the pleasure, wanted to curse at how good it was. 

He had to stop. Didn’t want to stop. Had to stop before he gave himself away. He slowed the slide of his hand, satisfied himself by slowly stroking his thumb, slick with semen, over the head of his cock. And that sent a whole new wave of sensations rushing over him. Tingling swells of pleasure, rippling out. He forced his breath into the pillow to keep from moaning aloud. 

He didn’t want to stop but he was afraid of how much noise he must be making. And he couldn’t catch his breath with his face pressed into the pillow. And he couldn’t risk gasping into the room. And, Christ!, how long since he’d had an orgasm this intense? 

He stilled, cupping himself, and shivered through the last of his pleasure silently. Teased with just the tips of his fingers as the sensations slowly eased and a sweet ache spread through his groin and into his lower back. 

And, god, that felt good! His cock throbbing with his slowing heartbeat. Every muscle in his body flushed and limp and relaxed. Breath coming back slowly. Silently. 

He waited, not moving, eyelids growing heavy, until he heard James get up. Creak of springs in the couch, rustle of clothing being rearranged, hiss of his zip, pad of bare feet on the floor. The bathroom door opened and closed with barely a sound. 

When James turned on the water, Robbie sat up and tugged his t-shirt off. Used it to swipe himself clean, then rolled it up and stuffed it into the drawer of his nightstand. He’d just rearranged his pyjamas and settled back down on the pillow when James went silently back to the living room. 

Robbie eased the sheet back up over his shoulder as he listened to James accordion himself back onto his couch. 

He supposed he should feel guilty, or ashamed, for what he’d just done. And maybe he would, tomorrow. But for now, all he could manage was a sweet, wilted relaxation that was bone deep. 

When he was sure that James was breathing soft and regular, he closed his eyes and smiled his way back into sleep. 

*****

A whisper, early morning soft, slipped into his sleep. “Sir? Are you awake?”

Robbie floated, warm and boneless, and tried to ignore the voice though he knew, somewhere near the edge of waking, that it would be like trying to ignore the need to breathe. 

“Sir?” 

James’s voice. 

It wasn’t a whisper this time. Just James’s normal daytime voice, which was still exceptional enough that Robbie felt it on his skin. It slipped under the edge of the sheet and feathered across his nipples, wakening them. It slid like silk, like words painted with fingertips, down his spine. 

Robbie stretched, still clinging to sleep. The sheet slipped down his naked chest and cool, morning air feathered over him. 

James added a light tap on the door frame. “Sir? Are you awake?” 

Robbie sighed and snuffled into his pillow. “I am now.” 

He left off the sarcasm that would normally have accompanied his answer because his first thought—after the pleasure of waking to James’s daytime voice—was a pang of guilt over what he’d done to the tune of James’s nighttime voice. Over what he was laying there thinking about James’s daytime voice. 

He rolled onto his back and tugged the sheet back up. Threw his arm over his face to block out the bright light coming through the blinds. Covering his eyes had the added advantage that he didn’t have to meet James’s gaze yet. He was sure he was going to blush the color of James’s pink socks when he looked at him. “What is it?” 

“I thought I’d try that new place across the river for breakfast.” If James felt any pangs over what he’d done in the middle of the night, it didn’t show in his voice. 

It eased Robbie’s discomfort, if not his conscience. He peeked from under his arm. “And you need my permission, Sergeant?” 

James was standing—well, not standing really—more like leaning, wrapped around the door frame, the sole of one sock clad foot resting on his knee like a bloody great stork. His hair was sticking up at all angles. His shirt was wrinkled, collar sticking up on one side. And his mouth was turned up in a smile much too cheerful for first thing in the morning. “I thought you might like to join me.” 

“Umph.” Robbie stretched and rubbed his face and smoothed his own hair because he was sure it was even more sleep-mussed than James’s. He decided breakfast didn’t sound half bad. 

He yawned. “Okay, but only if you change your shirt. You look like you slept in that one.” 

James smirked at him. “Of course. I would never expect you to be seen with someone so rumpled, Sir. It might destroy your fashionable image.” 

Robbie grinned back, relieved that he could fall back into their normal patter, leave behind his nighttime indiscretion. “I think there’s a clean one of yours hanging in me closet. From when you changed here after you fell in the canal.” 

“As I remember, I didn’t fall into the canal,” James said dryly. “You dropped me.” 

Robbie laughed, remembering his sodden sergeant and the squelching sound he’d made after he climbed out of the water. But James was right. James had been trying to retrieve a piece of floating evidence, and his hands were wet, and they were both off balance, and Robbie just plain hadn’t been able to hold on. Not that he would ever admit it. “The report said you fell.” 

“I believe that’s because you wrote the report. Sir.” James opened the door to Robbie’s closet, retrieved his shirt, and went off down the hall with it. 

Robbie was still smiling several minutes later when he followed James out the door into the early morning sunshine. He blinked against it as he checked to make sure the door had locked behind him. 

The neighbor next door was working in her garden, and the warm air was filled with the scents of cut grass and freshly turned earth. Across the street, a lone bird was sitting atop the streetlamp, trilling and chortling happily. As long as their phones didn’t ring, it was going to be a glorious spring day. Perfect for sitting outside with a coffee and some sticky sweet breakfast confection. 

James’s car was blocking his, so Robbie automatically headed for the passenger side of James’s. 

He settled into the seat as James climbed in behind the wheel. Robbie reached for the seatbelt, then had to lift up quickly because something in the seat poked him when he leaned sideways. He fished around under his bum and pulled out James’s cell phone. 

“Oh, sorry,” James said as he shifted into gear and backed out. “I forgot my phone last night. Check and see if I missed any calls?” 

Robbie finished fastening his seatbelt, then thumbed the phone. The front lit up with a picture of some antique musical instrument, but no messages about missed calls or texts. “Don’t see anything.” 

He was still trying to figure out what the instrument was—a lute maybe?—when his brain kicked in, and he realized what he was holding. 

James’s phone! He’d climbed into the car and sat on James’s phone. Which, according to James, had been in the car all night. Mouth open, he held the phone in his open palm like it was a dangerous weapon. “I thought I heard you on the phone last night,” he blurted and immediately wished he could reel the words back in. 

James glanced at him. “Couldn’t have been that,” he drawled in that melted chocolate tone. “I didn’t have my phone on me.” 

Robbie swallowed as the implication sank in. If James wasn’t talking on the phone last night... A flush rose up past his collar, so hot that it had to be even brighter than James’s pink socks. 

The corners of James’s mouth tipped up in a smile. “Did you know you talk in your sleep?” He lifted one eyebrow with a cocky, flirty, silky twitch. 

And then he turned his full attention to the road. 

###


End file.
